by Black, Regan
She didn't know the back roads well, but she had a good sense of direction and having left the Atlantic Ocean far behind, she resigned herself to drive-thru and another rest stop. Some place remote enough that no one would be drawn to the power shimmering around her.
So obvious now, how much magic Dare had applied to allow her to walk so easily in Charleston. There had to be a way for her, as the Matchmaker, to protect herself. It was silly to believe a Matchmaker needed a bodyguard to get through the most basic of days.
Even with this change, she wasn't any different, just more aware of those things she should never have forgotten. As an independent woman, an accomplished professor, a second job sort of thing like matchmaking couldn't really be beyond her skills.
Empowered, she cruised over yet another bridge without even looking for the faces of bitchy mermaids or disgruntled trolls this time.
Her pace slowed as the roads climbed and curved around foothills, then mountains. She decided she was probably the only driver to wish for a rest area inside a tunnel. The belly of the mountain was the first place that gave her any sense of peace since she'd started this run. Until she thought of trolls looking for a soul mate.
Sticking with her plan, she got fast food with the minimum of love-sickness and shortly after found a lovely rest area at the edge of a wooded hillside.
She could handle this – would handle this – her way. She walked Guinness again and set out food and water for him when they returned to the car. As he ate, she told herself the feeling of being watched was a result of her overactive imagination and Dare's incessant warnings. No one else had pulled in. No one else was here or Guinness would alert, and try dragging her off to make a new friend.
Weary, she leaned back and closed her eyes, remembering the stories Camille used to tell her. Stories she'd thought were merely fairy tales.
There'd been the requisite tales of otherworldly creatures, elves, mermaids, shape shifters – of which Camille showed a distinct, inexplicable preference for werewolves – and countless more varieties. Plus the rare group of individuals who'd been blessed by gods with immortality or advanced skills to accomplish a specific task.
Now that she knew they were real, she wondered how few of them remained.
Her mind hopped from one image to the next. Maeve's love-sick morning, the werewolf's eyes when she marked him by mistake, Dare and Lily in the churchyard, and always, the moody mermaid.
The mermaid bothered her most of all. Not just because that coral, coiling hair put a damper on her goal of a warm January. While it was disconcerting to be recognized before she'd even fully accepted the Matchmaker role, she now believed in the underlying magic that made such a thing possible.
What a risk the creature had taken to surface, to make herself known.
How had Camille – or another Matchmaker – wronged her?
For the first time, Amy felt a willing urgency to see the Matchmaker's book.
Picking up her phone, she dialed the office.
"What d'ya want now?"
Clearly the pleasantries were over. "Have you opened the package?"
"Course not. Are you home?"
"Not yet."
"Then why are you calling?"
Amy barely held her tongue. From scolding or apologizing, it didn't matter. "Open the package."
"No."
She launched her argument, was more than halfway through it, when she realized the line was dead. She confirmed the cell signal wasn't the problem and dialed again.
"Are you home?"
"Don't you ever hang up on me again." Temper had her thinking all kinds of dire threats she refused to speak aloud. "Is the package addressed to me?"
"Only if you're Professor Campbell."
The sneer in his voice grated across her senses. "I am. So open it already."
She blinked at the phone when a string of curses sailed through, followed after a moment of silence, by a weary sigh.
"For once my brother was right."
"Beg your pardon," she said sweetly.
"Nothing for your concern. I cannot open this blasted package. I will not say why over the phone. If you're too daft to figure out my reasons it won't matter anyway."
A string of beeps accompanied the irritable grumbling this time.
"Are you trying to hang up?"
"For all the bloody good it's doing me. What sort of creature are you that you'd curse a man through a damned phone?"
"Funny. To my ear all the cursing is coming from you."
"Women!"
"I'd hoped you might read a passage or two to me."
"As if I've nothing better to do with my time than read to children."
"Is this a bad time?"
"I should put down the phone until you hang up."
"But you won't."
"I'd likely wake up as a frog."
"Thanks for the idea." She smothered a laugh while he muttered some more. "There's a seal of sorts on the label?"
"Naturally."
Naturally. She had too many hours of driving ahead of her, even if the roads were clear and thawed.
"Well?"
"I'm thinking." She paused. "Would you bring the package to me? I'll pay for your time."
"No. You'll have to come here. I cannot just leave."
Driving back and forth would take too long. She was due back in class – if she could even teach class again. Dare had implied the book would help her understand how to mute her effect on people, but was that a spell she could master quickly?
Did it really matter anymore? Camille had lived in relative seclusion with her team, only stopping to see family for brief visits. He'd effectively told her she was headed toward the same lifestyle – just without his expert security assistance.
She wondered how she'd find the people who would be on her team. Was there some sort of mythical job placement service she could call? Dare had said there were factions and individuals waiting to use the matchmaker's power and services for their own purposes. How would she know who to trust?
Maybe running away had been the wrong thing. She reached to the front seat and tapped the radio dial to check the time. If she drove straight through…
"Fine. I'll be there…Mac?"
It wasn't quite silence on the line. She looked at the phone, saw they were still connected. He must have set the phone down.
"Mac!"
"No need to yell. I was just checking the scores."
"Do you have time to meet me in Iowa?"
"No."
"Please. I need to get the package and get back to Charleston before the interim is over. I save over half a day's drive if you'd just meet me." She paused, pretending to think. "You could save us both time if you'll just overnight the package."
"Can't do that either."
"Fine. I'll finish my business in Charleston and see you in a week."
"Business?"
"Yes."
"You wouldn't dare do business without the book!" His roar shook the trees on her end, but the whispered insult in her ear hurt far worse. "You're naught but a little fool if you try."
She swallowed her pride and tossed out the challenge. "How do you know so much about a book in a package you can't open?"
She'd never met him, but still she pictured his expression slumping in resignation as he heard her trap spring shut.
"Hold on. I'll get the bloody thing and read you your damned bedtime tale."
Amy smiled. Success came at the price of more questions. Mac had the Matchmaker's book – courtesy of Camille, obviously. It was a comfort to know he'd earned Camille's trust, but if he had the power to break the magic seal, that put him squarely in the category of 'unknown entity'.
When he came back on the line, clearly perturbed, regret about pushing him drifted over her like a fog.
His voice was a cool brush of vapor across her nerves when he said, "What do you want to know?"
"Mermaids please. Matches and parties involved."
"Don't know what you think will be here. It's not her diary or any such thing."
But that was exactly what Amy thought 'the book' would be.
Mac read to her in that deep, irritated voice, about traditions, boundaries and responsibilities.
"These are ruthless creatures, lass. What can you possibly hope to gain here?"
"Understanding." Putting the phone on speaker, she snuggled next to Guinness to stay warm.
Mac's voice filled the car and her greyhound perked his ears, listening intently, occasionally glancing up at her. When Mac finished reading the section, she had a better understanding of the sea cultures and politics.
"Isn't there anything about matches or agreements?"
She heard pages rustling. "Not here."
Lovely. Her Midwestern practicality insisted it was better to get the information directly from the source anyway.
"Thank you, Mac." Beside her Guinness huffed a quiet bark.
"What is that?"
"My dog."
Mac grunted. "Got more sense than I thought. What'd ya pick up? A mastiff, Rottweiler maybe?"
She smiled into Guinness' gentle face. "A retired greyhound."
"What the hell is he good for? Can't even swim if the sea folk make a play. You're playing with fire, Matchmaker."
"That she is."
Amy screamed, Guinness growled and Mac's voice roared through the phone's speaker. But the dazzling man staring at the window only gave her a dangerous smile as he climbed into the driver's seat. He crushed her phone and threw it out the window as he put the car in reverse.
"Keep that beast off me," he ordered, his dark eyes flashing in the rear view mirror. "Or I'll kill him."
Amy signaled Guinness to lie down. "Who? What are you?"
"Consider me your chauffeur. Just relax and enjoy the ride."
He snapped his fingers and her vision dimmed, her head rolled back against the seat. Beside her Guinness whimpered, but she couldn't move or speak to soothe him.
~*~
Lily wanted to be strong, but courage failed her. She'd impeded an important mission. Dare had needed something from the Angel Oak and she'd needed something from him. No one would ever believe her needs would win out.
"I told you not to bring me," she murmured at his chest. They were miles away from the Tree of Life, the car, her shop. She reached for the cell phone in her pocket and remembered she'd left it in the car.
"I'm such a stupid halfling." She thumped her head back against the grass.
He glanced down. "What did you say?"
"Just berating myself. Want to join in?"
"Not at all." He gave her a look of such confusion she wanted to laugh. Except she feared it would turn to tears in a heart beat. "How did we get here, Lily?"
Her name sounded like a threat and she rolled away, standing and wrapping her arms around herself. Elf or not, no one wanted to be trapped far from shelter on a January night – not even in Charleston.
"I lost control? I guess I diverted you. Us." It sounded plausible. And slightly less self serving than, 'I need you, take me please!'
"Do you know where we are?"
She was tempted to lie, but he was studying the sky with such expertise and intensity, as if the stars would shift to create a 'you are here' map and arrow just for him.
Miserable, she confessed, "Yes. I used to play here as a child. We're a few miles outside of town."
His eyes still on the constellations, he said, "Quite a few. You believe you brought us here."
"Y-yes." She couldn't quite keep the misery at bay. "I'm so sorry. I know you had a job to do, that you wanted to use the Angel Oak to find the Matchmaker. I know it was important." She cursed the tear rolling down her cheek. He didn't know her well enough to understand she wasn't the sort to use tears to manipulate. "You had a plan. I'm sorry."
"It's possible it's my mistake."
"No." She shook her head. The magic still simmered just under her skin, a bubbling reminder that she had no control. Just a halfling with enough magic for trouble, not enough for success. "I'm – "
"That better not be an apology."
He stepped closer, crowding her, but she didn't have the sense or will to step away. His thumb swept across her cheek, feather soft, carrying away her tears.
"I've seen you here. As a young girl."
Baffled, she just stared, falling into the gold-flecked green of his eyes, forgetting the impossibility of his words. Preferring the heat in his gaze to the chill of the air.
"In the sunlight, with flowers blooming at your feet."
She was in a lust-induced fog. It was the only explanation for her failed hearing. He could never have seen her here, she'd always been alone. Her eyes dropped to his mouth and, remembering its skill and his taste, her brain went the way of her hearing, the power of reason gone as her fingers fluttered against his sleeves.
Kiss me please.
She was sure she'd kept the words inside, kept the pathetic plea to herself when he glanced over her shoulder. But when his eyes returned to her, when his hands drew her in, close enough that her nipples pebbled, straining against her shirt, she wondered.
All she had was wonder. Thought, reason, and logic had all deserted her. There was nothing beyond Dare and this one patch of untended earth. The moonflowers at the edge of her vision were figments planted by her romantic imagination.
Not the right season for moonflowers. Not the point, Lily.
His head drifted closer, her gaze locked on his mouth. It was taking a ridiculously long time for his lips to meet hers. She pressed to her toes and what might have been gentle turned hungry in the span of a single heartbeat.
Had she ever known anything beyond the taste of him? Did it even matter?
She could think of no better place to discover the passion he offered. Here, the site of so many of her failures and too few victories. Sliding her fingers into his hair, silky and warm, she sighed.
This was the perfect balm to heal the lingering scar of her last memories here.
Curious, determined, more than a little desperate, she stroked his tongue with hers as her hands looked for the easiest route to his flesh. She wanted – needed – to memorize every inch of him. Wanted to brand this night on her heart forever.
She moaned in protest as he broke the kiss, but he tugged her hair back and set that talented mouth to her throat.
Cool air brushed across her midriff as he parted her jacket and hiked up her sweatshirt. He grumbled about clothes, though the specifics were lost to her as his big palm closed over her breast and his mouth worked her nipple through the frustrating barriers of bra and fleece.
She wrestled him out of his own coat, barely, as he numbed her mind with his ardent attention. No small consolation to let her hands skate free over the lean, muscular lines of his back.
"I need…"
Halting her own delightful explorations, she grabbed his head and dragged his incredible mouth back to hers. It was the only way to keep herself quiet and this was no time for rambling. Gods only knew what she might say.
She gave a little oof when he pressed her back into the support of an oak, a startled gasp as he sliced her sweatshirt. Where had he been hiding a knife?
The answers didn't matter when he lavished her bared breasts with such intensity she thought she'd explode. She arched shamelessly into him, biting her lip to keep quiet.
He teased her skin into a fever, set every nerve on fire as he sank to his knees and did the absolutely most delightfully unthinkable thing.
He peeled her jeans away, tossed her leg over his shoulder and slowly, so slowly his every breath became a separate, complete moment, he kissed the length of her thigh until finally his mouth found her hot and wet core. His large, strong hands caressed her thighs and her hips again and again as his tongue played with her.
There was no hiding. No escape. And gods have mercy, why would she want to escape?
She toyed with his hair and the tips of his ears
, enormously pleased when he growled against her sensitive flesh. Wanting to spout a litany of joy and romance, she gave a gratified moan when he slid first one, then two fingers inside her and had her panting, incoherent, perched on an invisible precipice, dying to leap into the void.
The orgasm ripped through her a moment, an hour later, she didn't know or care. She was only upright because of his support and she was thoroughly satisfied and boneless as he shifted to lie on the grass, draping her body over his like a blanket.
He let her float there, stroking her back and hair, until she settled enough to recognize the hard ridge of his erection digging into her hip.
Testing, she rolled her hips, smiling when the responding groan rumbled from his chest through hers.
"Be still," he ordered.
Still was the furthest thing from her mind. She drew her legs up along his thighs, his jeans a rough, erotic touch against her sensitive, bare skin.
"Lily."
She silenced the protest with a hard kiss. Sitting up, she prepared to unwrap him like a most-anticipated birthday present.
"It isn't wise."
He was most likely thinking of her mark, unaware she'd been happily ignoring it. The magic in her veins kept her looking young, but she'd been an adult for ages and had longed for the day and the man she could enjoy intimately.
She wasn't going to let him go now, not without knowing all of him and all of what they could feel and share tonight. As she carefully unzipped his jeans, his erection leaped toward her and she was amazed to realize the eager little moan had been hers.
Feeling infused with a seductive power she'd never dreamed of, she followed his example and stroked him with slow, thorough, touches.
He murmured encouragements she didn't need, but the deep sounds stoked her own fire. She pressed kisses to his carved torso, worked her mouth over his thighs as her hands learned the shape and feel of him and how to get the best responses.
Wet, wriggling with unbearable anticipation, she straddled him, sliding against the length of him and taking him into her body one delicious inch at a time.
Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head, she was so full, so sensuously stretched where they joined. His hands locked over her hips, branding her with the heat of his touch. He raised himself, changed the angle, and taught her how to ride him, increasing her pleasure with the perfect stroke.